


a little bit love drunk

by trustingno1



Series: Season/Series 3 Alternate and Missing Scenes [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, M/M, Missing Scene, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustingno1/pseuds/trustingno1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How do we play?" Sherlock asks, as he accepts the glass tumbler from John, and John pauses, still leaning forward in his seat.</p><p>"You don't know how to play Twenty Questions?" he asks, smile growing - but it's the kind of smile Sherlock likes, all desperately fond and <i>perplexed.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	a little bit love drunk

**Author's Note:**

> An alternate stag night scene. Just because. :)

"We need paper," John says, snapping his fingers.  
  
"Paper?" Sherlock asks, a bit fuzzily.  
  
" _Paper_ -paper," John explains, then frowns. "For the game."  
  
"What game?"  
  
"The _game_ ," John explains, "With the _paper_ ," and when Sherlock continues to frown at him, he adds, exasperatedly, "You just said you'd play!"  
  
Sherlock squints. "Did I?" He waves a hand, apologetically, "I don't always listen when you - talk."  
  
John sighs, motioning for Sherlock's glass. He tops it up again, and says, concentrating hard on pouring, "The Rizla game. Like Twenty Questions."  
  
"How do we play?" Sherlock asks, as he accepts the glass tumbler from John, and John pauses, still leaning forward in his seat.  
  
"You don't know how to play Twenty Questions?" he asks, smile growing - but it's the kind of smile Sherlock likes, all desperately fond and _perplexed_.  
  
"It sounds fairly straightforward," Sherlock says, with a frown, "Do we just ... ask twenty questions?"  
  
John snorts in laughter, before cocking his head to the side, thoughtfully. "No, but let's - let's do that instead, yeah?" He settles back into his chair and raises his eyebrows at Sherlock, who nods, slightly. "Did you want to start?"  
  
Sherlock waves a lazy hand at him in reply, and something about the flourish of his wrist makes John smile again.  
  
"What do you really think of Mary?" John asks, leaning forward again, bracing his elbows on his thighs, and _naturally_ that's what John starts with -  
  
"Not really my type," Sherlock murmurs. Not untrue, for a myriad reasons  
  
(but the first and most important is, of course, sitting opposite him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes).  
  
"You've never ... deduced her," he points out, and Sherlock tilts his head to the side. _Wrong_. "You've never deduced her out _loud_ ," John amends, and Sherlock shrugs, slightly. "Sherlock, you've deduced every woman I've ever dated."  
  
"Not _every_ woman," he corrects, mildly indignant. Wrong _again_.  
  
"Every woman you've deigned to pay attention to," John insists, "But you know Mary's ex-boyfriends. You know her favourite colour. You know which of her family members she still talks to.  Christ, Sherlock, you know her _name_."  
  
Sherlock sips his drink. "Is that important?"  
  
"You tell me."  
  
"I don't know what you want me to say," Sherlock says, sliding down in his chair a little, and John leans back in his, reaching over for his drink.  
  
" _Mary_ thinks," John says, and he licks his lower lip "that you're worried that me getting married will - change things."  
  
"Why would it change things?" Sherlock asks, and his voice is even, almost disinterested, and John shrugs.  
  
"You know it won't, right? If you're - worried. That it might."  
  
_Of course it will_ , he doesn't say. _It'll change_ every _thing_.  
  
"That's two questions down," he says, instead, and John's smile is rueful, unsurprised, _disappointed_ and Sherlock drops his gaze.  
  
"When you were - away," John says, and Sherlock glances back up, and, _ah_ , they're talking about it without talking about it, "Did you ever-" he breaks off, and a muscle in his cheek jumps, and Sherlock knows, he _knows_ , that there are only two ways John - so ordinary and charmingly terrible at this - would've finished the question -  
  
_miss me?_  
_think of me?_  
  
and regardless, the answer's the same -  
  
"Every day," Sherlock says, quietly, fingertips tracing the rim of his glass. Honesty is good. John likes honesty.  
  
"You don't even know what I was going to-"  
  
"Of course I do," Sherlock scoffs, without heat, and John laughs into his glass.  
  
"Of course you do," he agrees, and Sherlock smiles back at him. Then, as if it's taken a second to sink in, he leans forward, squinting at Sherlock. " _Really_?" he asks, suspiciously.  
  
Sherlock arches an eyebrow. "Is that your next question?" and John shakes his head, immediately.  
  
He takes another sip of his drink, and John works his jaw for a moment, as he gathers his nerve, and Sherlock's _intrigued_.  
  
"What Mycroft said at Buckingham Palace," John says, slowly, and Sherlock tilts his head, an invitation to continue. "Is that - true?"  
  
"John, you know I listen to very little my brother says," Sherlock murmurs into his glass, but he doesn't have to be a consulting ... consulting thingy ... to _know_ where this is going.  
  
John grits his teeth, but isn't deterred. "That you're ... a virgin."  
  
Sherlock uncurls one finger from his glass to point at John. "He never said _that_." Not in so many words. He's pretty sure he'd remember that.  
  
"He implied it," John says.  
  
"Did he?" Sherlock asks, leaning over to place his glass back on the table. John presses his lips together, and Sherlock sighs. "Virginity is a social construct," he says, settling back into his chair, "particularly difficult to define when considering homosexual or non-penetrative encounters."  
  
John blinks at the term, then re-focuses on his face. "Yeah, but are you a virgin or not?"  
  
Sherlock blows out an exasperated breath. "What does it _matter_?" and John shrugs.  
  
"Doesn't," he mumbles, one finger rubbing idly at his chin as he watches Sherlock.  
  
"Yes," he finally says, softly, barely moving his mouth, and he certainly didn't intend to say _that_ , and is this the effect of the alcohol? Because there were _calculations_ and if they'd just _stuck_ to their original _schedule_ -  
  
But John slumps low in his chair, legs spreading wider and oh - _oh_. _Fascinating_. Something about that _arouses_ him (just background and low-level, but something about that - is it the idea of having to _teach_ , to show, Sherlock? He wants to _know_ ).  
  
"I don't mind," John murmurs, before pulling a confused face at himself. Perhaps his mouth is behaving traitorously, too. "Have you ever - you know. Wanted to?" he adds, and Sherlock touches his fingertips to his mouth for a moment (and the door to a room he rarely lets himself visit bursts open before he can slam it shut - images - _fantasies_ \- of John above him, Sherlock's legs high around his waist, arms tight around his shoulders as John pounds him into the mattress; pressing John up against their front door, hesitant kisses become steadily more _filthy_ ; John's hand in his hair, guiding him, coaxing him to take him deeper, chin damp with spit and jaw starting to ache, but John's face slack, breath hitching -)  
  
He blinks, repeatedly, to clear his head, and John's studying him in the silence of the flat, eyes dark (it's the poor lighting, he knows, that's all). Sherlock swallows. "I found the opportunity has never ... arisen."  
  
It takes John a second, but he snorts in laughter. " _Funny_ ," he says, propping his feet up against Sherlock's chair and Sherlock smiles, just slightly.  
  
"Thank you," he says, softly, and they sit in silence for a moment.  
  
"You haven't asked anything," John points out, and Sherlock shrugs, reaching for his glass.  
  
"I already know everything about you," he says (and it isn't smug; just a fact).  
  
John's foot slips on the chair, ankle pressing against the side of Sherlock's calf through two layers of clothes.  
  
"Not everything," he says, mildly. He doesn't pull his leg away.  
  
"Everything worth knowing," Sherlock amends, and John's expression is thoughtful, strangely unreadable.  
  
"I might surprise you," he says, eventually.  
  
"OK," Sherlock says, slowly.  
  
"OK," John echoes.  
  
"Have you ever -" and in the tiniest of hesitations (too many, _too many_ , topics to pick from - Mary, and if he's ever had second thoughts; John's previous ... encounters - now that sexual history is apparently on the table; whether he's ever thought about Sherlock -) Mrs. Hudson taps on the open door.  
  
"Yoo hoo!" she says, " _Client,_ " and John's feet drop to the floor with a thud, but he holds Sherlock's gaze for a long moment, something that looks like regret tugging at his features

(and it's an emotion Sherlock feels abhorrently, _intimately_ familiar with, but he's not sure what it _means_ in this context)

\- before he finally turns away.  
  


 


End file.
